


don't you cry

by emavee



Series: Whumptober 2020 [10]
Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, DCU (Comics)
Genre: Blood, Damian Wayne Needs a Hug, Gen, Hurt Dick Grayson
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-10
Updated: 2020-10-10
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:27:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26925853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emavee/pseuds/emavee
Summary: Dick just wants to see his little brother smile.Whumptober Day 10: blood loss, trail of blood
Relationships: Dick Grayson & Damian Wayne
Series: Whumptober 2020 [10]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1948276
Comments: 11
Kudos: 204





	don't you cry

Dick swore to himself that he would always listen to Damian, not just to his words but to what is hidden between the lines and behind the many, many walls his baby brother has put up to protect himself. When Damian is angry, raining down a barrage of insults and threats, it always means something more. When he’s quiet, when he’s stoic, when he’s laughing and smiling in those oh so rare moments that Damian actually gets to feel like a child, Dick has learned to read him. It’s like learning a whole new language, but of all the languages Dick’s learned over the years, understanding Damian has by far been his favorite. Not everyone speaks it as well as he does, even within their own family, so Dick makes sure to always be paying attention.

It’s a shame he can’t hear what Damian is saying now. 

Damian’s mouth is moving, but all Dick can hear is a faint ringing sound. He wants to ask him to repeat himself, to speak up or slow down or sign instead, but for some reason Dick’s mouth won’t form the words he wants.

Damian mouths something, and Dick is 85% sure he said  _ “Don’t speak,” _ but he can’t be sure. He doesn’t understand what’s going on.

They’re not in costume. Damian’s not Robin, he's just Damian, small and young with his button nose and spiky hair and round cheeks. He’s wearing a suit—he looks very nice in it, like a grumpy little businessman. A spitting image of those younger pictures of Bruce, the ones on the mantle that Alfred is so careful to always keep dusted and neat. 

A gala then perhaps? Or some other snooty event? Damian hates them even more than Dick does, even more than Jason did, the few times he had been forced to go.

Oh. That’s right. They’d been at a party, and Damian had started hedging toward the more hostile side of grumpy so Dick had pulled him out for the night to go get milkshakes. If he turns his head just slightly, he can see Damian’s spilled dairy-free strawberry shake oozing across the pavement. Damian is partially kneeling in it now.

Dick frowns. Between kneeling in a dirty alley and getting spilled ice cream on his dress pants, surely Damian’s putting himself on Alfred shit-list. He shouldn’t do that. Damian absolutely hates when Alfie is cross with him. He gets all worried and pouty and it breaks Dick’s heart. Must break Alfie’s too because he never stays mad for too long. It’s good that Damian has at least one good grandparent. 

And then suddenly Dick is on fire. His vision whites out, neck arching and head bumping back against the harsh pavement underneath him. Fumbling for the source of the pain, his hand finds Damian’s small ones, pressed down into his chest.

It hurts, it’s pure agony, and he wants Damian to let up so bad. He shoves at Damian’s hands, he wants them off, but Damian bats him away like a fly.

He pants, gasping, and racks his memory to try and understand. He can’t make heads or tails of what’s happened, how they’ve gone from milkshakes to agonizing pain.

It doesn’t help that Damian is damn near unrecognizable. Damian obviously gets scared—everyone does, and Damian really is just a kid—but he never lets it show. At least, not like this. His eyes are wide, mouth moving endlessly (although Dick still. Can’t. Hear. Him.), paler than that time they had to fish him out of the harbor. Dick swears he can see him trembling.

Damian is never this shaken, this  _ scared. _ He truly looks eleven-years-old and it breaks Dick’s heart.

He does his best to smile through the pain, trying to reassure Damian that everything is okay. 

The fire is fading, replaced quickly by a sensation of numbness. Dick feels like he’s floating, unable to feel either Damian’s hands on his chest or the pavement beneath him. It feels kind of nice. Dick smiles, eyes falling closed as he lets himself drift. He hasn’t been this relaxed in… well, possibly years.

A roaring in his ears and something is shaking him. He groans, pulled roughly out of his daze, and forces his eyes back open.

A pair of very, very green eyes stare down at him. They are very wide and very shiny. Vaguely, Dick is aware of something wet dripping down onto his cheek.

Damian is crying. Why is Damian crying? He shouldn’t be—Dami has had far too much pain already for someone so small and young. He’s not allowed to cry anymore. 

Dick just wants to see him smile. He loves Damian’s smile, and his laugh, as rare as it is. He really should do it more often.

He reaches up, though oddly enough it feels a bit like his arm is moving through jelly, planning to swipe Damian’s tears away. The moment his fingers brush tear stained skin, Dami is latching onto him, holding Dick’s palm to his cheek and leaning into the touch as he sobs harder. Dick can feel the tears slipping between his fingers. He hates it. Frowning, he swipes at them with his thumb. It takes a couple tries, for some reason his fingers are clumsier than usual. They absolutely refuse to cooperate with his thoughts. 

Is Damian hurt? Is that why he’s crying? He doesn’t look hurt, but that doesn’t mean anything. Damian is, down inside, a very, very hurt child. Sometimes there’s nothing Dick can do to soothe his wounds other than to hold him, to be there and to reassure him that he is safe, that Dick will always protect him, that he will never hurt him.

He holds Damian’s gaze, trying his best to smile. He wants Damian to smile too, but he doesn’t.

Damian shakes his head against Dick’s hand, burrowing closer as he cries. Dick can’t find the strength to hold his own arm up anymore, but thankfully, Damian is still holding onto him, keeping his hand firmly in place against his cheek.

Dick loves him so much.

Damian’s eyes fly open suddenly and he tilts his head just slightly, speaking to someone Dick can’t see. He frowns. This is Gotham. At night. Dami shouldn’t be talking to strangers in a dark alleyway. He shouldn’t be talking to strangers at all, no matter how much training he has. Dick taps a thumb against his cheek to try and get his attention. Damian squeezes his hand tighter but doesn’t cease his conversation.

Then there are hands on Dick, moving him, picking him up, tearing him away from Damian. Damian lets them take him. Lets Dick’s hand fall away even as he reaches out for him. There’s a splotch of red on Damian’s face, a bloody handprint on his cheek.

Dick is being taken farther and farther away from Damian, who stumbles to his feet on shaking legs. He looks a bit like a newborn deer taking its first steps. Dick is worried for a moment that he’ll fall, and Dick can’t catch him if they keep taking him farther and farther away. 

Damian’s once black and white suit has turned colorful: rust-orange dirt on his knees and strawberry pink on his left leg, green eyes so so wide and red. Red everywhere, staining his crisp white dress shirt and darkening his blue-green tie into a muddy brown. But it stands out most starkly on his too-pale face, a handprint that cups his cheek and trails down his neck, running in a few rivulets to catch at his shirt collar.

Suddenly Dick is being lifted and his vision goes blurry, making him lose sight of his kid. By the time the world rights itself again, Damian is so far away. Too far away. Dick reaches for him, but he is ignored. Damian is no longer looking at him with those wide, terrified eyes; he’s staring at the ground, looking anything but alright.

Dick hates the sight, hates it so much. He tries to call out for him, to tell the hands that he needs Damian by his side, and that Damian needs to be with him, but instead his mouth fills with the taste of metal and it gets very hard to breathe.

The last thing he sees before the ambulance doors swing close and his own eyes slide shut with them is Damian standing hunched and alone, the bloody handprint bright on his cheek.

**Author's Note:**

> [want some angsty damian pov??](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27128954)


End file.
